


Promises Unbroken

by musicforswimming



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Gags, Guilt, Other, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:39:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicforswimming/pseuds/musicforswimming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Aragorn can't make vows, then he has nothing to fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises Unbroken

**Author's Note:**

> Intended as a fill for my k_b "gags" square. Also, for [inlovewithnight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight), who, when she first had the fangirl experience of LotR, asked me if there were any A/B/A out there, and also talked extensively with me about how "a Ranger caught of his guard" is clearly a favorite roleplay scene of Aragorn and Arwen's.

It's a game they've played many times, and after the bridge, after the Council, as though she knows he cannot bear any more of this heaviness, Arwen takes pity on him and begins another round. The morning has only just broken and the dew glitters almost as brightly as the gem he wears, heavy as all worlds, from the chain about his neck, and he hears footsteps as he sits among the trees. One person -- a man, he can tell, and forgets about it, except that then there is that shift of the very air that means an Elf, and he's only just turned when a knife is at his throat and he knows by the smell of the air about him that it's hers.

A part of him is, for the first time in days, at ease, and he knows it will get easier still, as she murmurs, mocking, "Why, the Rangers are in a sad state indeed, if one of their Captains may be caught like this." She is trying not to smile, he can hear it in the way her lips slide over her teeth and her breath catches on the words, and before he can 'defend himself' Arwen's gagged him, a cloth between his teeth and tied, tight, around his head -- that's unusual, more so the hood she slips over his head, but then --

"What say you?" she asks then, and Aragorn's heart drops. He cannot see her anymore, so her eyes cannot give her away -- and without them, if he did not know her, he would be cowed indeed, for her voice is stony, and she hides her mirth well. He heard another's tread, knew someone else was there, and certainly they had jested --

"He -- " Aragorn gasps about the gag, but it's too late, and there is nothing he can say now -- "he is far from where he ought to be, I think, milady." Boromir is hard to read, as it were; his voice is low, and the words cut deeper than anything else might. "Do not you agree?"

Aragorn gives no sign of a response to this -- he can't speak, of course, but he's careful to make no sign -- he tells himself he must not rise to this bait. He listens as they circle him on foot, and finds that his heart is pounding.

 

He can make no promises, and no promises made mean none broken. He's shuddering, nearly weeping, when at last a blade -- he could say whose no longer -- slips under the strip of cloth that gags him and cuts him free, and he cannot speak, at first, can only slump heavily between the two of them and gasp for breath. Arwen strokes his hair and holds him tight inside of her, and Boromir's arms around his waist bind them together no less than the length of him inside of Aragorn.

"Hush, my love," Arwen whispers, but it's in the Common Tongue, and though she hangs onto Aragorn, her hands still stroking his hair, her chin rests on his shoulder and he couldn't guess who she might be talking to. "Hush -- hush -- "

And Aragorn cannot find it in himself to speak, even now the gag is gone, cannot bring himself to say their names, for he fears what may escape, and even now, even in the heat of it all, he finds himself afraid of losing either with the wrong words. He longs for the gag again, and when Arwen guides Boromir's hand to his lips, he takes them both gladly, licking and tasting salt and dirt and the morning and the terror of the Enemy that binds them all -- he loses himself, and he is grateful to them both for taking any need for words away.


End file.
